Restless
by KrissyRocksOutLoud
Summary: America can't sleep. Be prepared for sleep-deprivation fueled freak outs. And lots of them.
1. THEM

America groaned as he arrived at England's door. He glared at the sky as if it had personally offended him. Stupid time difference. Stupid rain. He yawned before knocking on the door, loudly, with what was left of his scarce strength. England was quick to answer the door, slowly looking America up and down.

"God, America, you look horrible."

A weak glare. "Thanks."

"Well, come in. What's with the sudden visit?"

He stumbled forward into the house, tripping on the entrance rug and nearly face-planting into the ground. England was quick to grab his arm and lead him to the couch.

"America! What on Earth is wrong with you? And why are you here?"

He blinked blearily at him. It took a few moments for his mind to register that he was being spoken to, asked a question actually, and to form a response.

"I...couldn't sleep."

"You couldn't sleep?" Disbelief laced his tone.

"Ya."

"That is why you took a 7 hour plane ride to England and then a taxi ride to my house?"

"...Actually, I walked..." A yawn. "from the airport."

An awkward silence filled the air as America sat there, head dipping occasionally as if he was going to fall asleep, and England standing there, shocked.

"You walked here...from the airport...? That's a half hour drive America!"

"I..." He blink as if he forgot what they were talking about, "forgot my wallet."

"Well, whatever." Though he was certainly more concerned now than when he greeted America at the door. "What did you expect me to do about you not being able to sleep?"

"I...don't know." In a burst of strength, America was clinging onto England's shirt, his fingers gripping his shirt sporadically as if they lacked the energy to hold it for more than a few seconds. He was shuddering as he buried his face into England's shoulder. "A week, Arthur. A week! I can't sleep, I can't concentrate, food makes me sick, and my body aches. I need to sleep!"

England could feel the wetness seeping through his shirt. He wrapped his arms around the shaking nation, one hand in America's hair and one rubbing soothing circles on his back.

"Shhhh...it's okay. I'll help you." He had never seen Alfred like this before. He couldn't even remember the last time he had seen the younger man cry. "Let's go upstairs and get you into bed okay?" A nodded confirmation was all he needed. He slowly led them to the staircase. Unfortunately, he had no rooms on the first floor of his house. "America, you need to let go." The grip on his shirt tightened. "We cannot go up stairs like this. Someone is going to get hurt." At that, his grip loosened until England was practically the only thing keeping America on his feet. He situated America so he had one of his arms wrapped around his neck and one of England's arms wrapped around his waist. Once he had a secure grip, they slowly climbed up the stairs. When they finally reached the top, he glanced at America. His eyes were tired and empty, halfway closed, as if mocking him for being unable to sleep. His hair was disheveled with days of neglect. His face was pale and that only helped to accentuate the dark bags under his eyes. As soon as they were safely on the second floor, America latched himself back onto England, tears quickly starting to flow.

"I just wanna sleep. Please. Please! Let me sleep." America was begging desperately for some sort of relief and that fact that he even had to beg for one of life's necessities nearly broke his heart. The proud America reduced to begging to get a few hours of unconscious bliss.

"Shh America. We're almost there." He guided America over to the nearest bed, which happened to be his own, where they collapsed. He felt America tense for a second before relaxing into the sheets. He whispered soft nothings as he hummed and soon felt America's grip on him loosen. He sighed in relief when he realized that America was, thankfully, asleep. The relief was short lived though as a few minutes later, America gasped and shot up, forcing England to quickly roll off of him to avoid getting injured. He shot a questioning glance to America. "America...?" America turned towards England, but he was concerned when he saw no recognition, nothing but a strong fear shining in America's eyes, his eyes glazed over with remnants of sleep.

"...England?" America glanced around frantically before crawling over to England. He was panicking. Wait, why was he panicking? "England! We have to..." he glanced around desperately before he continued. "We have to leave!"

"America, are you daft? Why would we leave? For one, it's raining cats and dogs outside and two, you are dead tired. The only thing we are going to do lay on this bed and sleep." He sent his best glare at America and gently pushed him onto the bed. He was surprised to feel America struggle under his grasp.

"You're working with _them_, aren't you?" A heart-wrenching sob tore from America's throat and shot straight through England's heart. "W-why? Why would you help them? Why would you do this to me?"

"Help who, America? What on Earth are you talking about?"

"_Them_!" He gestured around the room with his head. He whimpered and dug farther into the sheets. "_Th-they_ want to hurt me! _They_ want to kill me! And you're...you're helping _them_. Why? How could you?" England was shocked to say the least. What on Earth was America talking about? He shot America a sympathetic glance.

"America, no one's here but me."

"No. You're lying to me! You want me to believe you. You're on _their_ side. As soon as I believe you and relax, _they_'re going to hurt me!"

"Alfred. I am not going to hurt you. I promise you, no one but you and I are in this room." He was curious though, "Who are 'they'?"

He could tell America was trying to believe him and relax, trying to make them go away. "_Th-they_'re everyone against me!" A choked sob. "Why do they hate me?"

"Alfred, I don't understand."

"I'm just tying to help them! Why can't they see that? Why do they attack me and yell at me? You Europeans too! Arthur, I just try to help. When I try to help, you all yell at me for interfering! But when I stop and leave, going to deal with my own problems, you yell at me for not trying, not helping enough. What can I do?" By now, America was sobbing, grabbing at England's shirt. "What am I supposed to do?"

"Alfred...I'm so sorry." How had he let this happen? How could he have permitted this? More importantly, how had he not have known this was happening? "I'm so sorry. I'll help you. I'll help protect you." He shot America a soft, sad smile. "If I had known this was how you felt, I would have helped immediately. I'm so sorry."

"Arthur..." He was gazing at England so hopefully that it fairly broke his heart. His eyes suddenly focused in on England's face and he swallowed thickly. "I'm so tired." His eyes had dipped again and England had a suspicion that no matter what he said or did, America was going to be asleep soon.

"It's okay. Go to sleep. I'll be here when you wake up." America gazed at him tiredly, already halfway asleep.

"You promise?"

England thought about it for a minute. And he knew that yes, he was not only promising to be here when America woke up, but promising that he would help America, and be by his side. He looked down and saw that America was asleep. He gently leaned down and kissed him softly on the forehead, smiling to himself.

"I promise."

A/N: Sooo...I've felt bad that I haven't posted anything in a while. I've been busy with school and other stuff that I'm not going to bore you with. So instead, I decided to upload the beginning of a story that I've had on my laptop for a while now. Why didn't I upload it before? I didn't and still don't really like it that much. I feel it's poorly written and only typed it out to get the plot outta my head. I've edited it a couple times to get it from it's horrible first state. Actually, this has been sitting here for a long time. This was actually one of my first fanfics. So here, enjoy. I have three chapters right now but I'm not gonna post the rest unless people like this. And just a forewarning, America will be freaking out once a chapter. Because that is what I love about America in this story. His freak outs. Poor America, I torture him way too much.


	2. In the Closet

Ch. 2

America slept fitfully through the night but England was true to his promise and stayed by his side. He didn't get much sleep because about every hour, his guest would start shaking and whimpering, twitching away from imaginary foes. England would immediately hush him, telling him everything was all right and that he was safe, there was nothing to worry about. America would fall back into an uneasy sleep and about an hour later, the routine would repeat itself. All in all, America slept for about 3 full hours before waking up.

Said man still looked dead tired, but it seemed worse knowing that he had tasted the sweet waters of sleep yet couldn't immerse fully into the lake. When he had fully woken up, he turned to England to find him asleep. He let out a sigh that turned into a choked sob when he looked around the room. The sun hadn't risen yet and the room was still cast in dark shadows. And in every dark shadow, America saw another foe, another enemy, another person trying to hurt him. He crawled to England's side and let out a whimper, trying to get as close as possible to the protection his companion offered. What he wasn't expecting was an arm sleepily draping over him as his protector turned onto his side, pulling the frightened man closer to his body. America shivered for a few more minutes before relaxing in his grip, eyes drooping but still denying him the release of sleep.

He layed there for what seemed like hours, staring at nothing before he felt England start to stir next to him and without any reason, panic shot through him. He tried to squirm away from England, his mind running so fast he could barely catch his thoughts.

"He's gonna be angry!"

"You haven't fixed anything."

"You should have been asleep."

"You kept him up all night."

"He's gonna hate you...

Hate you...

Hate you!"

He gasped, tears springing to his eyes. He had to get away! What if he hated him? What if he was with _them_? What if he lied to him? He shuddered, sobbing. No no no! England couldn't hate him, couldn't hurt him! When England's grasp tightened around him as he woke up, America become hysterical. He wretched himself away from the increasingly tight grip and ran. He ran to the door and wretched it open, running down the halls. He needed to hide. Now. He opened the closest door, a closet, and stumbled into it, shutting the door behind him. He dug past the coats and such and buried himself into the farthest, deepest corner of the closet, trembling.

"Alfred?"

A tiny sob escaped him and he shuddered. England was angry, he knew it. Oh God oh God. The door opened and a light flicked on. America looked up to see England looking down at him, eyes wide and confused.

"Alfred, what are you doing in here? And why did you bolt out of there so fast?"

Oh God, he was going to hurt him. Hurt him in more ways than one. He let out a sob before curling tightly into himself.

"Oh Alfred." England crawled into the closet and sat next to America, pulling him to his body. "What is the matter?"

He didn't even know how to put into words his feelings right now. He tried to jumble together a sentence, the thought that if he didn't use correct grammer, England would slap him floating into his head. "I-I, you, I'm sorry! I tried to sleep and none of my work is here and please don't hate me! D-don't h-hit me! I wanted to sleep and there's so much work but I couldn't do any and they were going to hurt me and I didn't want you to hurt me. P-please, please, please!"

England sat there blinking for a second. Once the jumbled mess starting to make a little more sense in his head, he looked at America sympathetically. "Oh Alfred, I wouldn't hurt you. Hush now, I'm not angry and they are not here. Come now, let's get something to eat, okay?"

America looked at him before sighing happily and nodding.

"Let's."


End file.
